bicycle
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Little
I’m soaked and distracted and I’m not sure I exchange any pleasantries as I stick my head round the door of the pub and bluntly ask “Are you serving coffee?” “Yes,” is the answer. “Awesome,” I respond before sticking my head back out the door to tell Jim the good news. – – – “Wanna…
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Transcontinental no.7 – Part 2
I pull into a tiny petrol station in the small Croation border town of Ilok to buy water as I’m almost out. I would have bought some before leaving Serbia but I spent the last of my Dinar on breakfast in Novi Sad. For some reason I assumed as I was now into the EU…
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Transcontinental no.7 – Part 1
This is just the stuff I can remember and may not necessarily be the correct order of events. Serbia in particular is a bit of a blur. In no way do I promise to be a very reliable narrator. – – – – – I stare out across dawn over the Black Sea on the…
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Normandicat
As soon as I start pedalling I relax. I know what I’m doing now. Riding bikes. Done loads of it. Cheered off by the organisers and volunteers we all turn left up the street from the Salle des Fetes just after 10pm. Most people continue straight across the roundabout at the top of the road.…
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Armistice Day 200
After storms on the south coast and a rough crossing we rumble down the ferry ramp into France in calm, dry weather. It’s really early, a bit after 4am local time, body clocks on 3am and barely a handful of hours of sleep. Rather than heading straight onto the road we nip into the port…
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Newhaven to Nyhavn
SATURDAY The smell of baking bread wafts through the air as I climb the hill away from the ferry. The streets are still and quiet. Beyond the light pollution stars prickle the black sky. The air smells of recently ploughed earth and the sound from wind turbines overhead accentuate the strength of the wind. For…
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M+1
In 1990 I went off to Canterbury School of Art in Kent as a fresh faced scrawny twenty year old taking my Raleigh Scirocco racing bike with me. Not only would the bike let me explore my new environs but as I lived ten miles from college on the coast at Whitstable the bike was…
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Three is the Magic Number
A while back my friend Ollie from work said he wanted to ride up Mont Ventoux for his fortieth birthday. I mentioned that my friends Jo, George and Oli had, a couple of years before, ridden all three road ascents and joined something called Le Club Des Cingles Du Mont Ventoux. I pointed him in…
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Alpine Weekender
Thursday “Not here, you need to be at the North Terminal”. I really should have checked my boarding pass before I joined the huge queue to drop off my bike bag. Thirty minutes later I’ve dropped my bag at the right terminal and find my way to the departure gate for Geneva. A few hours after…
the man from icon 